Hurry Up and Save Me
by Niji Hitomi Kabra
Summary: "I'm going through the same day/ /Same place, same way I always do/ /Then I saw you from the corner of my eye/ /And it hit me like a ton of bricks, I can't lie/ /Oh you got to me/ /My life was alright living in black and white/ /But you changed my point of view"


It wasn't much, just an average sized dive tucked around the corner from where the slave auctions used to be, and within perfect walking distance of the Lower Dock, which meant prime access to all of the supplies coming onto the giant mangrove island. And after a lifetime of living on the high seas, battling pirates, marines, government bastards, and more, the proprietor of the hole-in-the-wall was more than content to just feed the hungry mouths that came scrounging about the place every night. It wasn't glamorous, he didn't serve the rich and famous, and even if the people raved over what he cooked, they probably would have done so even if he'd served them boiled leather. That was how little they knew about cuisine.

But that was fine!

He'd spent his time sailing the seas, and since the Old Man had passed on, he didn't really have a home to go back to anymore. So, slightly scruffy, with silver giving his ponytail a shimmer, the blue-eyed cook, formerly an important member of the most infamous pirate crew to sail the Grand Line since Gol D. Roger, enjoyed the simple life built around the routine of running a glorified bar on the outskirts of Sabaody's biggest city.

He was restocking the shelves of glasses behind the bar when he heard the door open with a jingle. He didn't even bother looking around, "We're closed. Come back in a couple of hours."

"Gimme a couple hours an' I might never find my way back."

The years had been relatively kind to the newcomer, as far as an outsider could tell; despite a tumultuous lifestyle roaming wherever the wind took him and being challenged at least three times a week, he hadn't become walking scar tissue quite yet, and he'd refused to get a new left eye, though his doctors had offered.

Persistently. And hadn't _that_ been a fun evening? He grinned just remembering it.

But there was not a gray hair on him, in fact he had two blond streaks at the temples like the sun had bleached it, but only right there. He tromped into the bar, disregarding the owner's warning, and let the hands behind his head fall to his sides, thumb caressing the hilt of his most prized possession in a comforting gesture. When he came in and leaned on the bar, the three earrings in his left ear still chimed.

The cook tensed, he couldn't help it. The bastard just came waltzing in here like nothing ever happened, like he could just... no, no, the shit-eating asshole was probably just as lost as he said he was, and had no idea into just whose shop he'd wandered. He was probably looking for a quick drink, maybe something to eat, and then he'd be on his way and that would be the end of it and Sanji wouldn't have to address anything!

Yeah, and maybe someday mermaids would actually give the cook nosebleeds again the way they had in his youth.

He set the final glass on the shelf and picked up the basket from the counter to balance on his hip with a half turn towards the bar itself. He no longer wore the full suit, only the vest and shirt over comfortable trousers. If anyone asked his shoes were still steel-toed. Not that he needed the extra reinforcement on his primary weapons, but the support kept the leather intact better. His hair hung down in a loose tail, the bangs covering one half of his face all the way to his collar. It probably could have been tucked behind his ear or even tied at the back of his head, but it just didn't feel right without his right eye covered. The visible eyebrow spiraled and rose as he gauged what he should say to the shitty mosshead.

He settled on, "Nothing's ready yet. All I have up is booze."

The other paused, the knuckles of his right hand pressed against Wado's hilt in a nervous gesture he hadn't made in years. He hadn't needed to; out of all the challengers, the groupies, the fans (now THEY were scary. He now knew why Mihawk had lived on an island nobody could find all by himself—it was fucking SAFE there), even the few out of his former crew he saw once in a while... out of all the people in the world, the only one who made him nervous anymore was the one in front of him.

But he still smiled. He couldn't help it. "Not only are yer meals worth fuckin' waitin' for, have you EVER seen me turn down booze?"

Somehow, Sanji didn't rise to the bait. He just tucked the basket higher so he could hold it with one hand, and reached for the bottle of rum from the top shelf. A flick of his wrist spun a shot glass out of the cabinet and onto the neck of the bottle.

Then he plunked both on the bar in front of the bastard who had no right to be as attractive as he was, "Sometimes things change."

"Sometimes things don't," Zoro returned, voice turning softer, losing the arrogance. "And a boozehound doesn't suddenly turn to water, like a smoker doesn't suddenly decide to quit." Scarred knuckles shone tight as he grasped the bottle and glass to pour.

"Actually, they do." The blond glanced at him, almost against his will, then turned on his heel and exited into the kitchen.

He wasn't exactly telling the truth that nothing was ready. His stew for that night, a combination of North Blue salmon and East Blue mako shark in a thick sauce with vegetables grown on the Red Line, was already complete. It just needed a bit of aging to get the flavor just right. Truth be told it was ready, if a little cool, but no matter what their history, the Old Man's lesson wouldn't let him turn away even the most deplorable of customers provided that they ate what they were given and appreciated it.

So, he set about dishing out a bowl and warming it, all the while controlling his breathing to steady his hands. The craving for nicotine was never quite as bad as when he was thinking about that bastard, having him sitting there was just about a million times worse. He flicked the lighter he kept in his pocket for posterity and stared hard at the memorial picture he had hung above the prep counter.

The Old Man would've knocked his head around at least ten times by now, and that gave him strength.

Zoro's hand went tight on the bottle and he pushed the glass aside half-full to drink from the bottle. He usually did when the subject of that blond asshole came up. He'd never expected to actually find himself _here_. In Sanji's—place. He'd given up on a sense of direction years ago, and figured Fate put him where the wrathful little bitch willed, when she felt like it, and he had never imagined that he would be in any way needed for any part of Sanji's life again by her fickle terms.

He swallowed almost half the bottle trying to steady his nerves before he came back. If the cook threw him out again... if he... He couldn't do it a second time; he couldn't recover from that, not again. He didn't have any further goal to reach. There was nothing in this world he wanted, except the man in this fucking bar.

He couldn't ask for what wasn't his back, but damn if he didn't want it with an ache that lived in his bones and teeth.

"Has living at sea addled your brains so thoroughly that you've forgotten how to drink out of a glass, Marimo?"

The insult was quick off of his tongue, gone and out in the air before he even realized he'd said it, with a practiced ease that _almost_ erased the time spent apart. He cleared his throat, and plunked the bowl down in front of his former shipmate, a spoon balanced carefully across the rim, and not a drop out of place.

"S'all I got until dinner."

The swordsman put the bottle aside to pull the bowl closer, inhaling the scent and feeling it hit him in the gut, but not just because he was hungry. Oh god, it just... it _smelled_ like _home_. He took a moment just inhaling the aroma again and again, for a moment he could almost pretend he was on the Sunny again and they were—

He opened his eye and took up the spoon. "Thanks. Though it smells s'good I might think this _is_ dinner if you hadn't said otherwise."

He stirred it first, to collect a full spoon of flavor and vegetables, before bringing it to his mouth and his eyes closed again as he sucked the spoon clean. He could be entirely blind, deaf as an old dog, and his nose cut off and he would still know this was Sanji's just by the taste. It wasn't a recipe he'd tasted from the chef before, but it didn't matter. The food Sanji made always seemed to carry a little essence with it, and this time he had to fight to keep tears from springing to his one good eye.

"Nevermin' maybe, I'd be glad t' make m' dinner outta this," he said gruffly as he scooped up the next spoonful.

Sanji turned away quickly to cover the color that jumped to his face. His ponytail was long enough to cover the back of his neck, traitorous piece of skin that it was, and he busied himself with fixing the alcohol bottles to hide the missing rum, silently giving Zoro permission to take the whole bottle.

"Yes, well, it's what I have, and if you wanted something more your normal fa-ehem," he coughed and had to reach for a bottle of whiskey before it fell, "more East Blue, you'll have to wait until we actually open for business in approximately an hour."

Zoro blinked over the bowl, face completely blank of understanding. "I don't get th' comment," he said bluntly around another spoonful. "Why would I want something 'more East Blue' when th' best chef in th' fuckin world is right here an' has somethin' he's made new? At least, new to me, dunno how many times you've made it but brand-new t' me an' I like it. Who'd argue chef's choice?"

He was genuinely puzzled; anything Sanji made, especially if he recommended it, was what should be eaten. Of course, Zoro's perspective was still that of the crew who ate whatever the crew cook made, bad, good, or weird. Not that Sanji had ever given them less than excellent food.

"Ah, well, ignore it then. You're fairly good at that."

The cook was finding busywork he knew he should ignore and just go back to setting up the bar for the night. He just couldn't bring himself to pull away from the man who'd turned his world on its head.

"Mnnn... one more thing though. Why would East Blue be usual fare?"

Were the rumors saying Zoro was in East again? Oh he hoped so. All the challengers would go THERE, not HERE. He twirled his spoon and ate more, realizing with dismay the bowl was almost half empty.

Sanji focused on the rag he was using to clean the bar, not saying anything for a long time. Almost long enough that a normal person would have forgotten the question.

"Whenever you came into the galley after your afternoon workout and before dinner I made you onigiri with a side of pickled ginger and fresh sushi with the leftover bits of meat that were too small to go into that night's dinner. You drank exactly three cups of sake with it, and always in the corner seat so that you could nap against the wall until Luffy broke through the door demanding supper. It's half four and you're in my restaurant, dinner is in less than an hour, and according to your internal clock, it's nap time. Or at least it was." He scrubbed harder at an invisible stain, "I am probably entirely off the mark, as I said before, things change."

The bowl was empty now, so Zoro finished his swallow of the rum and gently set the bottle down, rolling it in his fingers.

"I kept up the routine for... oh... three months after..." He couldn't bring himself to say 'parted' and he didn't want to say 'you kicked me out' because that would start a fight, so he just bulldozed on, "but uh, word got around about my little afternoon naps after a snack and people kept trying to catch me off guard then and get my title without the challenge. It was rather... it offended me on a deep level, so I had to quit. Thinking that someone with no honor like that thought they would be able to take my title without having the skill—"

He stopped then, stomach roiling with old fury that he drowned with rum. He had to take several more breaths to regain his control, though anyone other than the man at the bar would never have known he lost it.

"But you are right...my internal clock still says I should be napping propped up in the corner."

The cook had no right to say it, no right to offer, and no right to be upset when it would be turned down as he knew it would be, but he offered anyway, "The place doesn't open to the public until six. Before that Rayleigh, Shakki-san, and Hachi usually stop in before opening their own shops. The bench closest to the kitchen against the back wall is the softest."

Sanji couldn't say out loud what he would do for this man, if he did that all of the years of carefully constructed walls within him would be in vain. All of those defenses would come crashing down around him like so much plywood. So, he didn't even look up at Zoro, hiding his eyes behind his bangs and still scrubbing at the bar as though it was anything but spotless. But unspoken, hanging in the air, was that old promise of Nakama. He would protect the World's Greatest Swordsman while he slept, and nothing would get through his defense, not even a rogue Pacifista could stop Black Leg Sanji.

Zoro finished off the rum and put it, and the bowl right in front of Sanji. "Thanks."

Because he _wasn't_ going to say no. Fate had put him here for a reason, she was a malicious bitch but much more malicious when she didn't get her way. And to be honest...he wanted to. It was a luxury. He didn't even trust Franky and Robin like this. Sure, he did trust them, they WERE Nakama... but he didn't have the same faith in them he had for Sanji. Only the blond garnered the bone-deep certainty of safety he couldn't have explained if he tried. So, he tromped to the bench at the very back wall, closest to the kitchen, and sat himself down, putting himself in the corner and adjusting to be comfortable before folding his arms on his chest, letting his chin drop, and closing his eye.

Sanji was almost thankful that none of his regulars showed up that afternoon before dinner. Normally, he would have mourned it, then swallowed the emotions with the same hard, gruff manner he'd always been taught to do by the Old Man. But today... he wasn't sure if they had seen Zoro heading his way, or if they truly had other plans, either way, he was grateful for not having to entertain them while juggling how he felt about having the bastard back in his life.

No! He wasn't back in his life! He was only passing through! There was no life between them anymore! He'd seen to that...

The cook stubbed out that train of thought with a barely audible growl and set the bowl of food down in front of his customer a tiny bit too hard. The man jumped back, but smiled in a nervous sort of fashion that meant he didn't hold against the blond chef. Sanji apologized silently, and moved about from table to table, clearing dishes, refilling glasses, taking mental notes for the things people wanted. He was fairly sure his guest was awake in the corner, but feigning sleep.

On the other hand, maybe the planthead really did trust him that much and he was actually still passed out. It wouldn't have been the first time Sanji had someone sleeping in his dining room while he went about his evening. And knowing Rayleigh, it wouldn't be the last either.

Zoro had started back awake at the sound of footsteps fourteen times before he'd been able to settle into a nice doze and stay there. And since it had been so very hard to achieve, he was reluctant to give it up; as a result, he really was asleep in the corner, but not as deeply as he seemed to be.

At first.

Soon he had readjusted to the familiar sound of steel-toed dress shoes on a wooden floor, and the moment that happened, the old instinct that lived in his hindbrain kicked in and said 'yes good safe'—because 'safe' was what innately linked with 'Sanji' inside his brain. Well, besides a few things that were...ah...unavailable to him now. But that instinct was firmly in place, he had been able to relax and fall into a true sleep, a deep sleep, a sleep the likes of which he hadn't been able to enjoy since they had parted ways. A sleep so deep he could dream.

And he did dream.

He dreamed of tropically warm waters, a thousand schools of fish swirling around him while he swam- and he didn't need to breathe, so he could just swim and look at all the wonders around him. In the same way he knew he didn't need to breathe, he knew this place was All Blue. And where there was All Blue, there should be...

There!

A flash of gold among the reeds and he was after it in a moment, his thighs and his biceps twitching in his spot on the bench as in his mind he used powerful strokes and kicks to chase that elusive patch of living sunlight among the fronds.

It was nearly twelve full hours later when Sanji finally locked the front door again, on the behind of a woman that at one point in his life he'd have attempted to take to bed with him. But that part was long gone, and dancing between the sheets held little interest for him with either sex. How the crew of the Sunny would stare if they knew he'd sent a bombshell like that packing when she clearly wanted anything else.

He needed a smoke.

Shaking his head, the blond snatched up the last of the dishes from the dining room and gave a swift kick at the bottom of the Marimo's boots as he made his way to the kitchen. "Rise and shine, dumbass, time to go."

Zoro woke with a start, coming awake all at once to roll off the bench and land in a crouch, his sword in his hand and drawn before he'd finished opening his eye, teeth bared as his other hand whipped his second sword up the line of his spine to form a defense for his back. It took him a minute to take in his surroundings, blinking rapidly at Sanji before relaxing and standing to hilt his swords, thumb running over the very tips of their hilts.

"Go? Did I miss dinner?" he asked.

He put his hands behind his head and stretched out his spine, shaking off the last of the sleep clinging to his muscles with a few vigorous stomps of his feet. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a good, deep sleep like that, and was both a little dazed and a little disgruntled at having to wake. And hungry. One bowl of stew, even Sanji's stew, was simply not enough for a body that churned through as many calories in a day as his did.

"Yes. And midnight. And last call. It's nearly four in the morning, and even when the asshole from the amusement park got sent through a table you didn't even stir. Guess you were right, some things never change."

Sanji's tone was almost fond, though a dark edge of clouded emotion made it harder than it should have been. He let the door swing closed between them for a moment, then returned with a tray: another bowl of stew, several slices of thick, crusty bread, greens collected from the treetop gardens spread as a blanket under one of the thickest elephant tuna steaks the Marimo had ever seen, and a large mug of some ale that gave off a hint of honey on the head. All of this he slid onto the table in front of where Zoro had been sleeping, and he leaned against the wall, tired from a long night of work. In days gone by he'd have been smoking, but now, he didn't. His hands rested in his pockets, his shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow and his tie loose.

"So, what brings you to Sabody?"

"I gave up entirely trying to go anyplace under my own will and let Fate throw me into whatever she feels like, so the wind brought me here," the swordsman replied honestly as he inhaled the heavenly aromas. He threw an 'itadaikimasu' the chef's way and dug in so nothing had the chance to get cold. Between bites, he admitted, "I figured out that I get where I need to be, exactly when I need to be there, so I gave up fighting it. While I'm here I might look into a sword shop or two. If I can find 'em. M'thinking of settling someplace and starting a dojo. Would give me something to do between challenges now that they're not constant anymore."

"You settle down? That'll be a laugh. You'll get lost trying to find the other end of your bathroom, let alone having to walk to and from your shop to restock supplies." the cook snorted, scuffing the wood with one toe, and watching the way the dust gathered around his mark.

"Yeah...but if I set up in one location, maybe my successor will actually find me instead of wandering like the lost dumbfuck I'm almost positive he is." Zoro almost growled around a bite, aggravated. He'd wanted the title, but in all this time, there was no HINT of anyone he might consider a real contender for it, a real successor.

Somehow that comment made the conversation stop. Sanji kept toeing at the dirt on the floor, but he wasn't speaking. His shoulders were tense, and there was a quiet electricity about him, like the rumble of an oncoming storm. Still he said nothing. Though as the minutes ticked on it became obvious he was avoiding something.

Like the great predator he was, Zoro waited until he'd finished the meal to broach the silence, biding his time. If they were going to fight, it would not be while there was food on the table. So when he'd drained the mug's bottom, he set it down and prodded the wound he knew was there.

"What about you? Any promising people you might wanna hire on?"

"No. Eggplant is apparently a rare plant." He scoffed. The silence fell again, then he shattered it with a quiet, "You're that ready to die, mosshead?"

The other blinked. "Die? No. Why would you say that? Why would you _think_ that?"

"Waiting for your successor to find you."

"Well...yeah. Nothing worth considering's come to call since I took it. Whoever will take my title, they're nowhere near ready- I'd just like to know there's somebody out there, and make sure they won't be showing up when my hair's gone red and my joints are stiff."

"If it comes to that I'm sure Luffy will make sure to take it first. He's not really one to just let you rust out like a shitty tree."

Zoro almost choked on air. "Oh my god don't even SAY that! Luffy trying to be a swordsman?! He'd cut off his own balls- and his feet into the bargain!"

"You never know," Sanji smirked tiredly, "he might get yours first."

"Hey, that was ONE TIME," he protested, but he was grinning, and he didn't even know it as the old wounds on his ankles pulsed. "And while I can admit it was harebrained _now_ it seemed like a viable solution at the time!"

"Oh yes, perfect. Just slice them off completely, because we really had a doctor that could have stopped the bleeding at that point. You nearly bled out as it was!"

The blond tried to laugh, oh how he tried, but the last sentence... the smile... even his posture was all wrong. He forced the chuckle through his throat, but it wobbled, shaking as hard as his fists. He stared at him for a moment, unblinking, and turned on his heel to march to the bar.

"I can't do this."

Zoro rose and followed him. "What? What can't you do? Come back here cook, you're not a coward, face me!"

Stacking cups and shutting cabinets too hard, Sanji just shook his head, "No. I'm not doing this."

"Do. WHAT." He just barely refrained from slamming his fist on the bar.

"The part where you clomp in here like nothing happened and then stomp your way back out again like nothing ever mattered." The glass in the cook's hand shattered, and there was a line of tension so tight down his back his hair actually vibrated.

Zoro's voice was tight and hard, and the words came out before he could stop himself, and even as he said them he knew he should shut the fuck up, but it was like they were pulling themselves out of his teeth by sheer force.

"Well it ain't like I'd be welcome t'fuckin' stay 'round, an' I DON'T stay where I ain't welcome."

"Fuck you!" Sanji whirled on him, but didn't actually lash out physically in spite of how it was obvious that he wanted to. "I didn't make you leave! You left on your own!"

"After you told me to! You threw me out, was I supposed to defy you and stay?!" Zoro's shoulders were up defensively, and his face was twisted and angry.

"I threw you out of the galley a hundred thousand times, and you never once listened to me before, why the hell would you start with THAT one, shithead!?" The cook wiped his hand of the broken glass, which was testament to the thickness of his calluses in that he wasn't bleeding, and the anger seemed to bank as he turned away. "I was happy. You couldn't handle that. But I'm not doing this. You left. It's over. It... Nothing will change. I'm not stupid enough to believe in forevers anymore. Just pack your shit and go. I'm tired."

"You never sounded serious until that time. You never _meant_ it the way you did then." His hands were fists on the bar, so tight his knuckles were white and his scars and calluses stood out stark against his skin. "And you weren't happy! How could you be happy, with all of us having found our dreams and you alone were left without it?! I couldn't handle you _lying to my fucking face!_ And it doesn't matter if it's over, do you think that changed anything about my feelings?! You should know better than fucking anyone I can't change that fucking easily!"

"WHO SAID I NEVER FOUND IT!?" Sanji screamed, back in Zoro's face, trembling with some muddy combination of rage and pain. "You're honestly so stupid as to think I'd have just given up on it!? That I got to the end and it wasn't there and I just thought 'oh well guess the Old Man as wrong'!? Just how much of your thick skull is actually grey matter because from my point of view NONE OF IT!"

"IF YOU FOUND IT WHY ARE YOU HERE?!" The swordsman's roar was like the boom of thunder, shaking dust from the rafters as the two of them clashed. "YOU SAID WHEN YOU FOUND ALL BLUE YOU'D FUCKING PROVE IT TO THE WORLD AND SET UP A RESTAURANT THERE! IF YOU FUCKING FOUND IT, WHY ARE YOU BACK ON GODDAMN SABAODY?!"

"BECAUSE I DID!" Thunder and lightning, equally matched and just as deadly, "BECAUSE WHEN I FOUND IT WE WERE STILL IN THE MIDDLE OF THAT GODFORSAKEN OCEAN AND LUFFY WASN'T KING YET! BECAUSE YOU HADN'T DEFEATED MIHAWK YET! BECAUSE ROBIN-CHWAN HADN'T FOUND HER HISTORY! NAMI-SWAN HADN'T FINISHED HER MAP! THE SUNNY HADN'T MADE IT ALL THE WAY AROUND THE WORLD YET! **_BECAUSE I WOULD HAVE HAD TO LEAVE THE CREW YOU IGNORANT SON OF A BITCH AND THE LAST THING I WANTED TO DO WAS LEAVE YOU BEHIND!_**" His voice cracked on the last sentence.

That seemed to wilt the green haired man, like a flower in snow. "Then why didn't you go back?"

"I didn't need to." The cook's voice was hoarse, and he cleared his throat several times to try and fix it to no avail.

Zoro's brows furrowed inward in confusion. "...I don't get it. If you found All Blue, why wouldn't you...mark it on Nami's map, go back there after we'd all achieved..."

"This is why I didn't explain it back then. You wouldn't get it." Sanji went back to cleaning up, aware that the other was following him waiting for the explanation. So, after a while, he sighed, "It's not a physical place. There is no place on the planet where the oceans combine... except one." He led the marimo into the kitchen to dump the broken glass and trash, then turned and gestured to the room around them. "And you're standing in it."

Zoro blinked, quiet for several long minutes, then blinked again- Nami had taken time once to painstakingly show him her map, every little detail, each line, every current and tiny island, in a vain hope she could prevent him from getting lost when he was on his own. And, of course, to show off her map, which was truly a work of art. He'd searched it for any place where currents from all corners of the sea might converge, and found nothing anything like it...especially not here.

"The current only goes three ways at Sabody, Sanji. That doesn't make sense."

The sigh the blond let out was both long-suffering and exhausted. In an effort to try one last time to get him to come to the conclusion on his own, he said, "Water isn't the only current in the world."

The swordsman leaned on the bar, eye tired, but curious. "Okay- so what other current is there that makes this place All Blue?"

"You really are as dense as every other meathead that blows through this place." Sanji shook his head. "Sabaody is the center of trade and commerce between the New World and Paradise now that Marejois doesn't exist anymore. People from all over the world come here to pedal their wares, and thanks to Iceburg's sea trains it only takes hours to get across the Calm Belt. But I wasn't talking about the island. I have the All Blue wherever I go. Because it's here." He tapped his temple, "and here," and his heart. "I have recipes from all over the world. I combine them. I invent new ones. **_I_** bring all of the fishes of the world together! Me! The cook! And where do I do it?" He spread his arms wide spinning slowly to indicate his entire kitchen, because the passion for his first love overwhelmed the sorrow of his second, "Right here!"

Zoro took a moment, a long moment, to mull that over. It took longer still for it to make sense. "So...you're All Blue? You...bring all the fish together, and you make them into dishes enjoying all kinds of those fish...which makes you and your restaurant All Blue."

"Yeah. That's why it didn't matter."

The defensiveness was back as the chef closed his arms and straightened his vest.

"I could sail all over the world and I'd still have it with me. There was a man on Water 7 who tried to teach me that, but I wasn't ready to hear it back then. I didn't realize it until that stretch of doldrums just after Wano Country, when I had little more than Nami-swan's oranges and Robin-chwan's herbs to get us through." He turned back to cleaning, washing the dishes to keep his hands busy. "I used to lay awake at night, listening to you breathing in my ear, terrified that I was failing. That we wouldn't make it because I couldn't feed us. I went hungry more than I'd like to admit because I knew I could handle the cramps and hallucinations, and if it meant the rest of you didn't have to deal with them, so much the better. I distracted myself thinking about ways to combine the recipes I already knew, and planning how to do it once I had the ingredients again."

The intake of a breath had him looking up at the picture of his adopted father, "I think that's probably what the Old Man did on that rock when I was a kid." Then he continued with a shrug. "It got me through and it made me realize that I already had my dream. So, I could concentrate better on helping you all achieve yours."

Zoro rocked back and forth from foot to foot, taking it all in, hand grasping at his swords, moving up and down them in a nervous gesture. He was upset Sanji had let himself starve; at the same time, he completely understood, and considering it was quite some time in the past getting upset served no purpose- but that didn't stop him being upset about it, which led to the hilt-fondling. He settled on something a bit more encouraging to say.

"Sanji, you could'a been left with nothin' but a couple dry spices an' whatever fish an' sea kings I could hunt an' catch, an you'da made it into a feast- and ya did. Every night. Ya always made sure we were fed an' strong. Why didn' ya ask me to hunt more? I would'a, if ya asked."

"That isn't the point."

The cook drained the sink, wiping it down with a towel, and crossing to the closet nearby for a mop and bucket. The hose hung from the ceiling provided water for the bucket, and the angle left the his sweat-covered back in stark display for the swordsman's view.

Zoro let out an involuntary noise and his eye riveted to that sweat-soaked back and ass, hand tightening hard on the hilts of his swords as he swallowed loudly.

Sanji glanced over his shoulder, fully aware of the sultry sweep of his bangs over his face, and smirked sadly. "Pervert."

"Oi, I'm a swordsman, not a stone. Even Mihawk-shishou had his enjoyments here and there, and you know what he was like."

The cook stood and shook his head again. "Yeah, yeah. I'm sure you're dripping with would-be lovers everywhere you go. What with running around shirtless half the time."

"Nah. I made my opinion about unsolicited advances pretty clear the first time somebody tried. An' I made sure the rumor spread far an' wide. People look a little sometimes now, but nobody tries ta approach. That's the way I want it."

Without answering, Sanji began mopping as he always did. The swipe of water across the floor, the sheen of soap bubbles, it reminded him of his days as a busboy on the Baratie, with Zeff and the others bustling about making foods that smelled divine to his uncultured nose, the hustle and noise of waiters and customers, the cloying heat from the wall of stoves...all of it. His first real home. It was gone now, permanently moored in Loguetown as a landmark and memorial to the great man who'd commissioned it. Sanji didn't even know what the others were doing with themselves these days, if they were even still alive. A part of him hoped so, but he knew better than to go looking for them. If anyone had actually wanted to see him, they all knew where he was. All, except...

He covertly watched Zoro through his bangs. A few more scars, a touch of age, but no less the wall of power the cook had embarrassingly fallen head over heels for. It stung, deep and heavy. The last argument. The sight of him walking out of the galley door never to walk back in again. Sanji had actually trashed the place after it was clear he wasn't coming back. Franky had almost yelled at him for damaging the Sunny, but for the way he'd been surrounded by broken dishes and wasted alcohol. No one knew it, but that was the day Sanji stopped smoking. The scent of it reminded him too much of lazy nights after the galley was clean and somebody else was on watch, after languid sex that was more about connecting to each other than fucking, and the rumble of contented Marimo in the corner of his life, always there and always watching his back.

Unconsciously it brought a change over how he moved. His spine rounded, his shoulders hunched, and his swipes with the mop looked more like he was trying to erase his thoughts than clean the floor. As always the raging inferno was merely a wall around soul-consuming despair.

He didn't notice when the swordsman moved in behind him, bringing his hands up to his shoulders and pressing the heels of his palms into them. Not until Zoro was rubbing and pulling on the hunching muscle, pulling backwards to straighten out his spine.

Instead of relaxing, Sanji tensed, a strain in his voice, and he hid his face further, "What are you doing?"

"Breakin' you out of whatever thoughts in your head are makin' you curl up so tight yer gonna cramp yer spine an' shoulders."

"And you think it's just... just okay. To... to... you know." The blond shied away, his visible eye over-bright and his grip on the mop white-knuckled where he held it as a defense between them. "You... you can't just walk in here and... and just... just act like... like none of it happened. No. I'm not the man I was, Zoro. And... And I won't let you do this. Not again."

"And what am I doing, exactly? Other than comforting a man I have known, and cared for, for so long that I could never let him suffer in my presence, my nakama and my former lover? What exactly am I doing? Do you really think I'm ignoring what went down between us? I simply...I can't say I've moved past it. It still hurts. But I don't want to attack you. So what am I doing?"

"You're going to walk out that door, leave me behind, and I'm never going to see you again! That's what you're doing! Stop making this harder than it already is!"

It was almost a plea and he didn't think before he said it, because if he'd thought about the words first he most certainly would NEVER have said something so weak and childish.

"Do I have to?"

Sanji blinked. Then blinked again. Then a third time before his brain caught up with what Zoro meant.

"Why would you want to stay?"

The swordsman pressed his lips tightly together, hand almost tap dancing on his sword hilts and his eye dropping to the cook's scuffed shoes. "I never _wanted_ to leave in the first place."

"Then why _did_ you?" Sanji hated that his voice sounded so plaintive, and that he felt like he couldn't let go of the mop, and that he could measure the number of breaths it would take to taste those lips again.

"Because you told me to. And meant it. I was an obstacle to your happiness...and I wouldn't stand between you and your happiness for the world."

Zoro sounded small and hurt as the memory resurfaced. Sanji had been _so angry_, he'd really meant it when he'd screamed at him to 'get lost and stay lost'. The whole thing had the blond man shaking his head, as though he could deny what he was hearing.

"You refused to believe I was already happy... I..."

He had meant it, but... he hadn't meant forever. Or even for as long as it had been. He didn't even remember what the marimo had said that made him so angry in the first place, only that it had to do with calling him out on his self-sacrificing.

Zoro raised his hands in a helpless gesture, his shoulders slumped. "How could you be happy without your dream? I'm a fucking pitiful consolation prize. I didn't get that you'd already achieved it."

"Heh. What's a cook to the Greatest Swordsman in the World though?" The blond rubbed the back of his neck, his ponytail coming loose around his shoulders from the motion.

"You're a creator. God, Sanji, destruction is simple, it's easy- I can destroy in an instant what took a hundred years to construct and maintain. Fuck, destruction is so simple a child can do it. Not as efficiently as me, but it's just that easy. You...you _make_, you create, you not only have to take raw ingredients to make food, you make _new_ kinds of food, and that is so much fucking harder to put together than to tear apart. What's a swordsman against a cook?"

His smile was a little crooked, and a lot sincere.

"I'm not fancy though. I... no one knows me. Not like they know you. For the sea's sake, I never even got a decent wanted poster back when they were a thing." Sanji looked at their feet, the strike tips of his slightly scuffed dress shoes compared to the solid, no nonsense, combat boots Zoro always wore. "I guess I just don't see what you see."

"You're as fancy as yer food, cook. You're still the third of the Monster Trio. Sure they couldn't get the damn wanted poster right, but your name was known with me and Luffy's. Maybe you don't see what I see. That's alright. I can't see what you see either." He came forward until their toes touched, taking the loose blond hair and tucking it behind his ear. "Remember, you do what I can't, and I'll do what you can't."

The breath caught in his throat as both bright blue eyes-so so tired and hurting, stressed around the corners-snapped up to search the remaining coal orb that was somehow above him in spite of their negligible height difference. His tongue darted out, the scruff of his goatee never had grown very thick across his upper lip, and he knew the marimo could tell he was shivering.

"You..."

"Me. Same, stubborn, pervy, utterly besotted fool I ever was. Can I stay? Can I finally stop being lost?" His voice was earnest, his eye soft, and his hands cupped either side of his neck.

"D-don't..."

He had to close his eyes, it hurt too much. Sanji didn't cry, not when the Merry died, not when he'd been trapped in Okama Hell, not when it became clear that the Strawhats couldn't travel together anymore, not even when news reached him of Zeff's death, but he did now. And contrary to his words his body was leaning into the other's, the craving written in the very core of his soul.

"Please?"

"If you ask me to leave again, I will. But please don't make me," Zoro returned, his voice a low hum, almost subsonic, his hands slipping up to frame Sanji's face as he almost begged.

"No! D-don't! Don't go!"

In that moment the proudest member of the Strawhats lost his last shred of defense. Only one other time had he ever begged for anything in his life, and it too had involved this man, this green-haired, muscle-headed, sword-obsessed, bastard of a man, that had dared tromp all over the view Sanji had of himself and cut out the incompetent, self-serving, misogynistic, homophobic traditions he didn't even know where he'd picked up! He had his dream, he'd found All Blue, but the cost had left him a broken, hollowed out shell of the warrior he'd once been. Every line on his face, every silver strand in his hair, every tear that coursed down his cheeks, told the story of how he'd left the others, found a hidey hole, and crawled into it, content to never see the light of day again.

Zoro's arms dropped and crushed Sanji to him with all the force his formidable upper body possessed, his face burying in his threaded-silver hair as his heart broke for this man, his mate, his beloved, his cook, one hand pushing Sanji's face into his neck because he couldn't stand to watch him cry.

"I won't, I won't, I'll never leave you again, they'll have to kill me and pry off my dead hands with a crowbar first, god Sanji, I'll stay with you, I'm yours," he promised, arms shaking with how hard he was holding onto him, in fact his whole body was shaking, and he could hardly whisper for the lump in his throat as he too began to cry, hiding his tears in blond strands though he was sure Sanji could feel them.

The mop fell to the floor, and the cook was mumbling something against his lover's skin. Damn his foolish pride, damn his short temper, damn his ability to say the absolute worst thing at the absolute worst moment. That was what it boiled down to, and Sanji knew he'd be kicking himself for this for the rest of his life, how could he have ever let Zoro think he wasn't wanted?! And the pattern of his silent words made all that clear to the one he needed more than breath. Life just wasn't life without Zoro.

Zoro took them both to a bench, even he wasn't sure how, and just sat with the love of his life, rocking back and forth, and crying themselves out until their eyes were swollen, their sinuses clogged, their throats tight and painful, and their entire faces were not only red and blotchy but felt stretched tight and scratchy. When the heaving breaths and violent sobs finally petered out, Zoro turned the cook's face up and dropped soft kisses all over it, still rocking him slowly as he pulled him into his lap.

Sanji tried to keep up, but he just couldn't. His hands fisted tightly in Zoro's shirt and he just gave in, let himself be overwhelmed by the swordsman. His hair was a mess, he stank of the day's work, and he didn't care. Covered in a curtain of silky gold, he rested his forehead against the other man's.

"You idiot." He sniffled. "Your sense of direction is so horrible it infected me."

The lips against his forehead paused, curling into a lopsided smile, and his voice wobbled when he managed to force it out of his still-tight throat. "Oh really? And how the hell did that happen?"

"Yeah. Somehow I got lost without you." The cook snickered, but it held no humor. He sat back on the swordsman's knees, his legs folded under him to either side with that inhuman flexibility, and he looped his arms around Zoro's neck. "And you're the idiot because you let me."

"I'm always the idiot, I'm the muscle, you're the smarts in this relationship, remember? I thought we settled that ages ago," the swordsman teased gently, holding him closer and nuzzling his jaw. "But I won't make the same mistake twice."

"Better not." The smile fell from his face, pressing himself closer so he could whisper, "I don't think I could survive it."

Then he caught Zoro's mouth, and poured everything into the kiss.

Zoro met him equally, because they had always been equals, and had suffered equally without each other. He took every ounce of what Sanji had to give and dealt back in equal measure, just as vicious, just as needy, just as absolutely desperate as the blond. He hadn't been whole since he left; he finally was again.

Entirely without his control, a moan curled up from the cook's groin and into the kiss. He vibrated with it, unconsciously rolling his hips against the marimo. God he'd missed him! The hunger stoked in his belly had Sanji biting and sucking kisses along the rough jawline and back to those earrings he knew so well.

He tugged on them, growling into Zoro's ear, "Nothin'... like... you... anywhere... else..."

The marimo's hands slipped under Sanji's ass and hauled him in until there was no space between them, nipping and kissing in return as shudders ran up and down his spine and he rumbled, voice husky and deep. "You either...cook...s'why I...didn't bother...lookin'- fuck, I missed you!"

He ground their crotches together and turned so he could push the cook up against the wall.

"W-wait! Wait!" The cook pulled back, bracing himself between the wall of stone and the building. At the mix of disappointment and confusion, the blond flung open the door next to them, revealing stairs. "Bed."

Zoro's wicked expression could have been taken from a demon as he agreed succinctly, "Bed."

Caveman-like, he hauled Sanji up and over his shoulder to climb the steps two at a time, nostrils flaring as he smelled the cook's traces all over this stairwell and the apartment up above.

"Ahh!" The shout was half laughter though, as he landed on the plush mattress in the middle of his studio-style apartment.

The entire place was open, with a tiny, immaculate kitchen nook in the corner directly above the professional stove below, the bathroom and laundry facilities were hooked into the dishroom and public bathroom, and the rest of obviously Sanji. A comfortable couch with small projection snail, thick carpets for tired feet, a broad desk pushed up against a picture window for maximum light, and a wide open space between the bed and the stairs lined with a tatami mat that was perfect for the insanely flexible fighting style for which the cook had earned his moniker. But as per usual the crowning point of the room was the bed. Almost wider than it was long, thick enough that the edge was at the middle of the swordsman's thigh, and covered with blankets and pillows, almost all of which... were bright, _marimo_, green. And fuzzy.

Sanji blushed, toeing off his shoes so he could pull his knees up to his chest. "I missed you too."

Zoro grinned only wider, and more wickedly, if that was possible, toeing off his boots right next to the cook's and abandoning socks, coat, and haramaki where he stood, though he paused a moment while handling his swords, looking around before leaving them carefully against the wall beside the headboard and padding over to Sanji to climb into the bed with him.

"I think it's a nice touch. Perfect camouflage so I'm never seen when the challengers come, hm?"

The blond had his shirt and vest open but not off just yet, "As if there's anyone in the world stupid enough to actually be a threat to you."

He slid back so that Zoro was hovering over him and just took in the sights. Still chiseled, still decorated in all of those delicious scars, and still... he leaned up to nip the edge of The Big One, his teeth grazing skin and his tongue tracing the long-removed stitches marks.

Zoro's breath stopped dead in his throat before leaving him all at once in a deep, throaty moan, and his toes curled as his back arched and his shoulders and arms shook trying to support him. That scar was never, ever sensitive- except when Sanji put his mouth and fingers on it.

Yup, still sensitive.

It almost made him forget.

He smirked and bit his lip, his hands running up Zoro's sides, careful to avoid the Big One for now, but tracing all of the other dips and curves and scars from hips to shoulders. Sanji leaned up to suck on the underside of his lover's chin, gently mouthed over his Adam's apple, and bit down teasingly across his collar bone to his shoulder, where he took a mouthful of the muscle and sucked a deep bruise into it. His oral fixation hadn't been so happy in so long!

Zoro's shaking arms did their best to hold him up, and really, that was all he could do while Sanji took in the scenery anew, and it took all his concentration not to crash down on top of the more slender man. As such, he completely forgot about his only significant 'new addition', which fingertips as sensitive as the cook's were able to feel. Especially given it was dead-center in the middle of his back, stretching outwards in all directions, and stopped only just short of his sides.

When his fingers reached it, they paused only long enough to trace it, and his lips muttered, "cheating bastards" against the skin of the whole pectoral before Sanji moved on. He knew Zoro would never turn his back on a fair fight, if there was a scar there, it was because someone had gotten the drop on him, taken advantage of him in a weak moment, and truly had behaved horribly dishonorably.

"Hope you killed the fucker, cuz... I might hafta... if you didn't."

It took the swordsman a second to grasp what Sanji meant, mostly because his mouth was on his chest _so close to his scar he could almost taste it_, but when he did he laughed. "Ahh- uh, might be- nnn -awkward if I did - nnnnngh -that, seein' as I-aaaaaaai- paid him to! Fuck Sanji how'm I supposed to co-AH-ncentrate when you do th-AHHHt?"

"Paid them to do it?" Now he was confused, and the cook pulled back from his exploration specifically to stare up at his lover, resting his legs to either side of Zoro's hips. "What do you mean paid them?"

Scrambling his wits more or less together, the marimo grinned at him madly. "You didn't trace the whole thing, did you?"

He sat up, twisted, and turned around.

It wasn't a scar from battle. It was a deliberate scar, in an intricate design of swirls within a perfect circle. The edges seemed to waver, like eddies in a current, and at the very center it all came down into one single swirl- one particular swirl. It came up from a line that was slightly curved; the curl extended inwards twice, and ended facing to the left. And every single line in the entire design, in fact, echoed the anchor in the center, swirling always leftward.

"S'called scarification. Liked it better than a tattoo."

Sanji blinked, the blush from before creeping back over his cheeks and nose. "Y-you... That's my..." Hiding his face in his bangs, he lifted his left leg and thumped Zoro's hip with his heel. "You bastard!"

Zoro laughed, deep and low, a rolling sound that echoed in the room.

"Yeah, well, ain't nothin' else ever gonna be markin' me there, so it was the safest place t'put it," he purred over his shoulder, eye shining.

"Bastard. Shitty, sweet, romantic, bastard." Sanji muttered, running his fingers over the edge of his lover's pants when the marimo climbed back over top of him. He squeezed his knees around the other's waist and glanced up through his hair, cheeks still aflame. "S'not fair, y'know."

Zoro kissed his eyelid, then his nose, then his mouth, wiggling a little into those legs. The sheer power in them was enough to squeeze the breath out of him, he knew. It always thrilled him to think about.

"All's fair in love an' war, cook. Includin' shitty romantic gestures."

"Yeah, but I'm s'posed to be the over-the-top romantic. You're supposed to be the dumb meathead that I get to kick around. What's it make me when you're gettin' all romantic on me? Bastard."

Sanji pulled him down by his waist band, meeting his mouth in the middle. Maybe if they kissed long enough, he'd forget about the fact that Sanji was still mostly dressed.

"A good teacher," he muttered.

Then his hands came up to start picking at the cook's clothes. Zoro had never been one to let Sanji get away with staying dressed while he was naked. Except on his birthday, then he'd indulge that particular thing, but not the rest of the year.

The vest he let slip away without trouble, but the cook squirmed when Zoro tried to take his shirt. Not the usual kind of squirm either, the kind that meant he was hiding something, like the time he'd sliced open his back protecting Nami and Usopp and didn't want the rest of the crew to know about it.

Zoro paused, playfulness instantly turning serious. "Cook...Sanji..."

"I... I'm fine. I'm just not used to being seen... anymore." He looked away, holding his shirt closer to his body. "Things change, Zoro. It was hard. I just don't want you to... feel bad."

He frowned, cradling Sanji's hips and taking the strong hands in his own. "...Why? Did you get hurt?"

"In a sense. It was a long time ago now, they just haven't faded, and I didn't care much because no one saw them, but you're back and you'll see them. So, now I sort of care."

He hovered a moment, face twisted with visible indecision, because he'd always sucked at hiding his emotions from his lover. "I guess...if you really don't want me to...we can leave the shirt on..."

"Eh..." Sanji's hands flew to his belt.

"Eh is not an answer," the marimo chided, pulling the belt undone for him and pulling the pants down once he got them unbuttoned and unzipped.

It happened faster than the blond could do anything, and it twisted something deep in his gut. Long, pale-skinned, deadly, sinuous, from thigh to ankle, and dotted from knee up until they disappeared under the hem of his boxer shorts were lines. Stark pink against pale skin, puckered, indented. All of them evenly spaced, and in neat groups of three. Sanji couldn't look at him, certain that Zoro knew, and equally as sure that he would be ashamed of them.

Zoro examined him with his eyes, then his hands, his rough fingertips gently tracing each set of three going up his legs, his eye serious and his frown still very much there. As he brought the backs of his fingers down again, toward his knee, he asked softly, "Why? I knew you, once- and if you resorted to this, you must have had a very good reason. So...what caused this?"

"I... It... It was hard." The cook's voice sounded nothing like himself, small and ashamed. "I couldn't smoke. But I needed to. Chopper suggested a bit of pain might help, he gave me a rubber band, but it snapped with how often I used it. Then... I was there, one of the last days I was on the Sunny, in the galley, and I was slicing one of Nami-swan's oranges and the knife slipped, and... it just... it worked. I didn't want to smoke as long as it hurt. So... I... made two more, and... then it wore off, so... I did it again. And again. And... I... Me. I caused this. It was me."

Zoro took a moment to take that in, closing his eye and breathing softly before opening it again. "Okay. Do you still do it, or has it been...better?"

His voice was gentle and soft- there was no judgment, and no anger.

"I hadn't done it in a long time... until today." He tried to curl away, certain that Zoro would be hurt by it. "You were there and it just... hurt... everything came back. I thought I could handle seeing you again and be fine, but I couldn't. I sound like some ridiculous romance story maiden, wasting away because her prince left her for a while. Even I can't stand to hear my voice when I get like this. I understand if you think less of me for it."

"I don't." Zoro reached up and unfastened the buttons of the shirt, one by one, searching out the place Sanji had inflicted the most recent wound with a slow but gentle determination. "Everyone does something. Did you ever wonder why the Big One is so gnarled?"

"Because you tried to sew it shut yourself and wouldn't let either Usopp or I help you."

Sanji didn't move, letting the groups of three across his hips and stomach be revealed. It wasn't until Zoro had removed the shirt completely that the bandage just below his left elbow was exposed. It was neat and tidy, demonstrating years of practice, which was in and of itself somewhat despairing, but it also meant the wounds underneath, for there were surely three, were clean and cared for such that he would avoid infection.

"That's not the only reason. I tore it back open. During those long training sessions when Chopper would get really mad at me? I trained so hard I reopened the scar." He kissed the bandage, then nuzzled up to kiss Sanji's jaw. "I would always pretend it was an accident. But I knew what I was doing."

"That was obvious, dumbass. We all knew what you were doing." But the insult held no heat, and the cook tilted his chin to turn into the kisses, letting his other half soothe the sting of shame without really thinking about it too much.

"Yeah, but you let me keep the bullshit accident pretense. Thank you for that." He lowered himself over him just enough that their chests brushed, and he kissed his mouth tenderly.

"But," Sanji had to pause for a kiss, "that isn't the," another, "same."

His breath was slightly shorter, and his hands had come back up to Zoro's hips, the nerves he was still feeling keeping him from returning to his earlier exploration now that he was exposed.

"No. I didn't do it as often. I did it when I failed the crew, and I didn't like failing the crew so I didn't do it often. We were damn lucky. You used it...to keep yourself stable, to keep yourself going. And you're careful. That's a good thing."

"You don't think they're..." It made his cheeks flush again and he couldn't say the word, his pride getting ahead of his vanity.

"No," Zoro said steadily, looking him in the eye with a little smile. "A scar is a mark of what you've lived through. No matter how or by whom it was made."

The blush deepened, and the cook smiled again, brightly, "What is this? First you're all romantic, and now you're handing out sage advice? Have the last ten years made you wise or something, Marimo?"

"Nahhhhh. I'm just repeating what got beaten into my head by Mihawk for those years I trained under him," he replied back playfully, with a little nip to the side of Sanji's neck.

"Mrrr. Do you always repeat what gets beat into your head? Or do I have to jog your memory some more?"

Now that the scars were revealed and Zoro hadn't balked, the burn of want was flooding back through his veins. Sanji rolled his hips, grinding up against his lover, and mouthing at his jawline, his hands tracing the swirls of that special scar.

A shudder ripped down his spine at the touch of the man that scar was meant for and the swordsman arched against him, aching anew now that the mood was coming back in spades. "Nnnn...no, but I can use a reminder now and then, hm?"

"I'll just have to make sure we don't get lost again then, eh?"

Sanji bit down on Zoro's ear, wrapping himself around the other man with a well-placed moan. He was rolling his hips in something of a rhythm, not enough to get them off, but enough to wake them up, and the longer he went, the better it felt.

"Oh, yesssss," the marimo hissed in return, rolling against him and purring at how good it felt to be touched. "Navigate me, do. Otherwise I'm liable to wander off-course, cook."

"Then turn over."

The blond didn't give him the chance to actually do it, he wrapped his legs around Zoro's and flipped them so that he was on top and had full access to the Big One with both mouth and hands. He traced it, first down one side, then up the other, nipping and licking, using teeth, tongue, and lips to rememorize every twist and contour. He hummed, bent literally in half in the wrong place, his groin and mouth both in contact with his lover, as he worked the tie of Zoro's gi pants with his mouth and traced the grooves of the swordsman's calloused hands with his fingers.

The swordsman was utterly swamped with sensation from the scar, the teeth and tongue and lips and fingers and palms all sending different thrills and jolts up his spine, leaving him to moan underneath Sanji in minor bliss, purring thunderously as he rolled his hips up repeatedly to meet him, almost begging for more without words.

"By the sea, I've missed you, dumbass." Sanji realigned himself over Zoro's hips and shimmied his pants down with his thighs, then set about mapping the bones of Zoro's hips with his mouth while he disposed of the rest of both of their clothing. When he came back up, fully nude and unashamed, he asked against his lover's mouth, "Remember how this goes?"

"Mmmm, s'been so long I really don't. Teach me again, love-cook?" He wiggled his hips against Sanji with a playful growl and groped his ass. He was hard as steel, dripping on his stomach, and eager as anything just to touch his lover again.

Sanji purred, taking both shafts in hand to rub together while reaching impossibly over Zoro's chest for the bottle he kept behind his pillows. There were toys back there too, but for now, the bottle was all he needed. However, the angle left his chest open to be fondled and bitten, and the swordsman's teeth on his nipple sent shivering pulses all the way down to his cock.

"Nngh. Naughty bastard."

Zoro grinned from around his nipple and moved to the other, leaving wetness and coolness in his wake, hands dancing up and down his sides as he sucked and nibbled, rubbing his scar up against Sanji's chest. It was a mean move, because he knew what his scar did to Sanji, but well...all's fair in love.

"Wouldn' be fun if I was docile an' obedient," he smirked into the soft skin.

"Grrr." The blond bit down on the top of Zoro's closest ear, grinding his body from ribs to groin against the other's while pressing the bottle of lubricant into his hand.

The swordsman groaned, almost fumbling the bottle as his loins jumped hotly, and he dragged one mile-long leg up over his shoulder, both to give his hand access- and his mouth. Swords weren't the only thing his tongue could handle, after all.

Sanji shifted, leaning back on his hand so that his lover could do what he did best, and used the other to steady the curved length jutting out from his pelvis. With the toes behind Zoro's head, he carded through the green spikes, as dexterous with the ball of his foot as he was with his hands thanks to decades of fighting with them. He bit his lip and watched, breath caught in his throat with anticipation.

Zoro didn't dive straight in, the way he'd favored when they were still doing this regularly. His aim this time wasn't to utterly overwhelm. He kissed the head first, sliding his lips down gently and slowly, sucking ever-so-lightly on the frenulum as his hands held down his hips firmly and he mouthed at his base sideways, purring into the hot, stiff flesh.

The power in how well the swordsman could disarm him made the cook shift his grip on the marimo's hair from his toes to his hand for fear of pulling and screwing up the ecstasy exploding behind his fluttering eyelids.

Zoro sealed his lips around his head and sucked lightly, then slid down further- and further...until Sanji hit the back of his throat and his lips were circling his base, hands stroking down his thighs as he just breathed in his taste, took in his scent.

Breathing in short pants, the blond's stomach shivered with the effort to not buck into his lover's mouth. "Nngh... Z-Zor-rooOH!"

He had swallowed- and he swallowed again, not pulling away until after he'd made him cry out again, pulling back slowly and sucking all the way until he could curl the tip of his tongue to flick his frenulum and rub his tastebuds against it just because he could.

"Y-you wanna... nngh... wanna end th-the show... early... Mmmbastard." Sanji ran both hands through the short, dense, almost fur-like, moss atop his lover's head.

He dragged his tongue from base to tip and held him in his mouth when he answered. He knew it drove Sanji crazy to hear him talk perfectly fine with his mouth 'full'. "Who said this wasn't exactly where I planned t'end it in the first place, blondie?"

"NNGAHH! Dundodat!" The cook slurred, curling into the vibrations running up his spine. He panted several times, "You... you bastard... you... s'not... nngh not fair damnit!"

"Did I promise fair?" He sucked again, concentrating on his tip, eye glinting at him, full of heat and desire. There was nothing in the world he liked as much as watching Sanji come apart.

The blond shuddered. Another one of those and he was going to follow through with that threat. Bent in half, literally, so he could press his nose into Zoro's hair, he couldn't help the subtle twitching of his hips, he was so close. Just needed more. It felt so good after so long by himself. He whimpered, needing it, but not wanting it to end.

"Come for me, cook."

Zoro took him to the root and swallowed around him again, squeezing him in the back of his throat, one hand coming up to cup and massage his balls in the perfect way he'd always liked, pressing against his perineum with a knuckle.

That was it! All over! He was done for! Every line in Sanji's body tensed at the exact same moment and he was gone! He may have cried out, he could never tell when he thought back on it later, because his blood rushed through his ears, and a decade of wanting, waiting, hoping without actually hoping, came pouring out of him in that single orgasm. He buried himself in the heat and wet and everything, his soul seemed to be connected to his dick, because that was how hard the release hit him.

The talented bastard took in every drop, swallowed every single bit of what Sanji gave him- the pain, the time, the physical release, everything, like if he could he would take Sanji's soul into himself to protect and to keep for the rest of his life. He kept sucking until the cook was exhausted, until his body fell limp and relaxed, and the past ten years stopped hanging so heavily on his face. Only then did he pull up and back, panting a little, and kissing his beloved.

"I'm sorry for taking so long."

"Y-you're a bastard." Sanji panted. "A sell-fish, self-fish, shellfich-SHITTY bastard!" But he was grinning, and he wrapped himself, octopus-like around Zoro's head, "Dun ever get lost again. I dunno how to find you when you do." His shoulders hitched a little, a shaky sob whimpering from his lips in the jelly aftershocks of orgasm. "Y-you g-get lost an'... and I get lost tryin' to... to find you. Dun' get lost anymore."

The swordsman leaned up, sweet as a trashy love story, kissed first his lips, then his eye, and replied with a little smile, "How can I get lost if I never leave my home berth?"

Curled into a ball on top of his lover, the cook mouthed the corded muscle closest to his lips. He made a soft, contented noise, trying to touch and taste and memorize every nuance of the man he'd fantasized about since letting the bastard leave his galley so long ago.

Zoro purred in the back of his throat, wrapping around the cook to get as much skin-on-skin contact as he could possibly get, and hissing whenever Sanji rediscovered a sensitive spot. He could swear up and down he didn't have this many erogenous zones, but dammit, Sanji just _found_ them! Made them, maybe. Still, he certainly wasn't complaining as he tilted his head, shifted his arms and legs, opening up the different parts of his still-sculpted body for inspection. There were a few new scars, but not many, for him to find.

And each one he did, Sanji traced with his tongue. Reverent and meticulous, learning the puckered flesh like he was studying a new dish. He was slow, languid, taking his time to savor the expanse of swordsman he had in his bed. There would be time for quick and dirty some other night, he promised himself, but this renewal had to be drawn out for fear of him waking up in this same bed, aching from a chill so deep his bones rebelled against it.

There would never be that chill again, not as long as Zoro lived- he had no intention of letting his lover wake up alone ever again. He was patient, drawing on years of training, and managing to settle himself enough to savor the slow worship, to absorb the lavish attentions from his lover without demanding more as he would have the last time they were together. He even managed to forget about the persistent ache in his groin, but that part he was used to, from nights waking up and turning over to ask the cook if he'd like a midnight quicky only to remember he wasn't in bed with the love of his life anymore, but alone. He'd never had the heart to take care of it himself after remembering that.

But here, and now, with his cook, he forced his breathing to keep steady and his muscles not to twitch, tremble, or jerk. Except when Sanji bit him because he never had been able to resist a bite, and his skin was like a blast furnace, radiating heat enough to warm the whole bed.

He would never admit it out loud for the life of him, but Sanji's oral fixation stopped where certain parts of Zoro's anatomy were concerned. He could do it, and had a few times, but the difference between their skill in that area left him with a feeling of gross inadequacy that all of Zoro's reassurances couldn't remove. So, when he'd squirmed and nipped and licked all the way down to the marimo's thighs, he retraced his steps instead of pressing on. Some part of his mind knew this was horribly teasing but the fear that he'd mess it up took away from the enjoyment of tormenting his lover.

Realigning himself along Zoro's chest, the cook reclaimed the gold pendants with his teeth, and murmured, "You have no idea how much I want you right now."

The marimo laughed, softly, deep in his throat, voice made yet rougher by the tease he knew was both unintentional and didn't need to be gone through again. He was tired of asking Sanji to repeat himself; he'd just take him as he came, he'd decided. Still, he hitched one freshly-bitten thigh up around Sanji's hips and undulated both their bodies in a grind so delicious it had him gasping.

"So go ahead an' take me. M'all yours."

"Mmmmmmrrrrrr..." Sanji moaned into the sensations, rolling his own spine to prolong the contact. "Top or bottom?"

Zoro laughed again, though it was choked and breathy as they started a kind of rhythm of grinding. "Nnngh, cook, I finally have my hands on you after _a decade_, do you really think I care?! Pick one!"

"So indecisive, grrrr," the blond bit down harder on the edge of Zoro's jaw, "mmmm... want both..."

"Nnnggghh- ah! Fine, fine, you're on top, you top, just- nnnnyahhh, just stop fucking TEASING, Cook!"

In a curl only Sanji could complete, he purred and shifted so that he was bent over backwards to reach the lube where it had attempted to escape off the bed. His spine arched, and the pop of the lid coming off of the jar was like music to his ears. Zoro's hands on his waist acted like a cinch, gathering him back up one vertebra at a time until he was sitting upright. He lifted the thigh around his own up to his arm and nuzzled the inside of its knee, deliberately dragging his chin fuzz through the answering sprinkle of green hair. He used kisses and nibbling bites to distract his lover while he warmed the lubricant, memory supplying the knowledge that room temperature was freezing to his walking furnace of a lover.

Zoro was already doing his best to relax, as he didn't want to wait too long, but it still touched something somewhere between groin and heart that Sanji still remembered how _goddamn cold_ lube tended to be at first, and he relaxed further for him, hands unconsciously kneading at Sanji's hips before letting go because he wasn't flexible enough to keep bending like this. Still, his thighs started twitching and shivering with anticipation.

When he first touched him, the cook's nimble hands were gentle, almost hesitant and incongruous with how he'd been biting and marking the rest of his swordsman. He couldn't help it, it'd been as long as forever since he'd been allowed, able, to touch like this, and that part of him that made him want to draw it out, to savor it like an expensive wine, had him balancing the jar where his thigh met Zoro's so he could use both hands to manipulate erection, scrotum, and the muscles connected to both.

He traced down to the crease between ass and thigh and in towards the center, just feeling. He knew Zoro was getting desperate, and some part of him relished it, the knowledge that he held the power to bring the strongest man in the world down to a quivering mess of precome and shaking muscles. It curled the corner of his mouth when he pressed both thumbs into the cleft just between entrance and perineum.

"NYAHHH~!"

His back arched and both hands snapped above his head to hold on to the headboard as the marimo's toes curled tight and his knees jerked, trying to get closer to that ungodly feeling sending white-hot bolts up his spine to wring out his brain matter into a mass of molten sludge. It left him a mess of desire, of need, of incredible desperation that had him bucking his hips against Sanji to silently demand more. Damn the man for priming him and then revving the engine so he couldn't even think about breaking! And damn him double for doing it so well Zoro didn't have the brainpower to protest!

The smirk became a sadistic grin, and Sanji waited until the next peak of Zoro's arching to slip his index finger inside, curling it slightly to drag across the nerves he knew almost as well as his own.

The swordsman clenched around it, whining for more even as he humped back against his finger, biting his lip and moaning desperately.

This, the cook almost regretted later, he rushed some, because the sight and sound of Zoro coming apart, being so needy, under his touch egged him on. One finger became two, working him open with deft scissoring motions. Then two became three, and he stroked the edges of the swordsman's prostate with all three fingertips. Several more thrusts and three became four, with Sanji leaning up on his knees and rolling a condom he'd pulled out of the nightstand drawer over his re-awakened hard-on. He was biting his lip, both hands moving in the same rhythm, and panting almost as hard as Zoro with anticipation.

His only eye was hazy, and the only thing it reflected was the desperate blue of Sanji's own as he mustered the strength to raise his neck and meet his eye, his mouth open to suck in air, his legs splayed wide as his chest, glistening with sweat and his belly smeared with precome, heaved up and down. He could only wrap his mind around two words right this second, and he said them:

"Please, Sanji!"

"NNGHFUCKERDON'TBEGLIKETHATBASTARD!"

The sentence came out in a moan thanks to the way his dick jumped in his hand, and he had to balance his forehead on Zoro's chest to calm down enough that he could remove his hand without hurting his lover. He rolled his head to the side as he did it, and watched the marimo's face while he lined up, slicking the latex with more of the lube. It was messy, it was glorious! And the slide home fit like a glove.

While it was in reach, he threaded his fingers through Sanji's hair, purring to him and not regretting it one damn bit as the fingers were removed, and he met Sanji's eye without shame as he lined up. He could feel the slick getting everywhere, it was cold on his thighs and the globes of his ass where it dripped but he didn't care. And when he slid home, he threw his head back and moaned, clenching on him to pull him deeper.

"Oh God, Sanji, yes!"

His hips were already twitching to move, and he held tight onto Zoro's legs. He spoke through gritted teeth, "Please tell me you're good. Nnngh..."

"I'm good, I'm so good, Sanji _PLEASE!_" He bucked onto him, straining.

That was all the cook needed, snapping his hips and giving in to the drive to bury himself to the hilt within his lover. He growled, murmuring half-intelligent garbled curses against the solid wall of muscle that was Zoro's neck and shoulder. Sanji was always vocal, and ten years hadn't changed that, only muffled it a little in that he spent most of his air making noise in a way that the neighbors couldn't hear.

Zoro clenched on him, massaging the cock inside completely without shame, and with a lot of skill, as his spine rippled and he bucked to move with his lover, hand twisting into golden locks as he growled and purred and begged. He was vocal, but he'd never been very loud- he liked hearing Sanji's noises too much to want to drown them out with his own.

In spite of having gotten off once already, it was no surprise when Sanji's rhythm faltered, the tell-tale signs and sounds of him getting close in the way his breath hitched and his muscles tensed. He whimpered, wanting to hold out for his lover first, but very clearly failing.

Zoro's mouth came to his ear and nipped, sucking, and licking, heavy thighs clasped around Sanji's slim but powerful waist, and he breathed into the shell a -very strange- request. "Order me. Tell me to."

"Ah! What?!" The cook sputtered, losing his concentration nearly completely. He pushed up, and consequently _in_, to blink at his lover, "Order you? That's... you... I... yes. Come then. I... I guess?" He shivered and his arms trembled in holding him up.

Zoro's legs clenched him tight, as hard as he could, though that wasn't nearly as hard as Sanji could hold, and he came, violently, pulling him in as close as possible and giving a long, low growl into his ear, relief and intense pleasure all rolled into one rumbling sound delivered right into his ear.

Though the sound rumbled all the way down his spine, the blond, arrested as he had been by his lover's request, found himself in the embarrassing situation of being unable to come. He drove in deeper, seeking the release, along with the growl, but for all that his body was ready his mind prevented it. He whined when a few thrusts did virtually nothing, his pleasure having plateaued just before his edge. Zoro bit him then, demanding, irritated, and humped back into him angrily, the legs around his waist squeezing.

"Don'tcha fuckin' leave me 'ere alone, come y'sonuvabitch," he snarled, giving him another bite to the side of his neck and leaving a mark.

"NNGAH!" Sanji cried from the bite, something of the same tension that had birthed their rivalry-turned-relationship made him shudder. He drove into Zoro harder, faster, whining with every breath, and reaching. So far and yet so close.

"NnnnZoro..."

He switched sides and bit him again, digging in with his canines, and reached up with both hands to rake his nails down his back until he drew blood. "Come!"

"AHNNAHHH!"

Tears exploded from his eyes at the same time that his dick shot off, pulsing almost painfully in climax that was more like a fight than an orgasm. He arched into it, forcing Zoro beyond his normal level of flexibility, and his hands drew deep red lines over the curve of the swordsman's buttocks. He panted, hard, head thrown back and sounds that were closer to pained cries than moans accompanied his every breath.

Zoro finally relaxed then, panting, and let his head fall back and his legs unwound from Sanji's hips to fall to the bed. His eye was closed, and he continued to let his mouth hang open because it just seemed a little short of air just now. But it was alright. Sanji had reached climax again, yes, Zoro had done good by his lover and he could bathe in his afterglow now.

The cook shivered, no longer wrapped up in his lover's inhuman heat, and slipped back. His dick, almost numb from having been used so thoroughly, was limp and it took most of his concentration to not pinch himself taking off the condom. He didn't quite get it tied off, and at that exact moment, he didn't really care either. If worst came to worse he'd had to shampoo part of the carpet. The jelly feelings in his arms and shoulders and hips were more important right then. He staggered, dropping both bottle of lube and used rubber off the side of the bed and collapsed onto Zoro's arm, shivering slightly from cooling sweat. A sound reached his ears and blearily he glanced at the big picture window that was both primary light source for his apartment and eye catcher for the restaurant. The sky was growing light and the native fauna was making it known that they were greeting the coming day. Sanji groaned loudly, if a bit hoarse, and buried his face against his lover's chest.

Then he mumbled something completely incomprehensible.

Zoro's limbs were slowly wrapping around Sanji again, octopus-like, and he grunted back as he used his toes to snag the blanket and pull it up. He muttered into the sunshiny locks, tucking Sanji's face right up into his neck, and their body heats mingling. "Th'bar c'n close for a day. You'll still be up in time fer dinner service."

Sanji replied something that could have been "fuckin' shitty bastard" but was too slurred to actually make sense, for all that he curled into the heat, nuzzling up under the swordsman's chin like a kitten. He started once, then relaxed when the foreign voice said, "shhh," and disappeared again.

At the doorway, Shakki smiled and winked at Zoro, her finger on her lips. She'd take care of the bar for them, let the overworked chef sleep for once.

Zoro tucked both of them in and gave her a grateful little smile, wrapping the exhausted cook up in himself and letting them both drift off to sleep. This was much, so much better than going to sleep cold and alone.

With a small shake of her head, the veteran barkeep made her way back through the immaculate kitchen and out to re-join her incorrigible partner at the bar, a cigarette in her lips and a couple of shot glasses in her hand. She smirked at him, "Tucked as snug as a couple of bugs in a green rug."

"It's about fucking time," said the white-bearded man at the bar, tapping his pipe in the ashtray. "I was starting to wonder if I would be bones by the time the green idiot found his way here. The brat wasn't kidding when he said that boy could get lost in his own ship."

"I suppose we should let him know that his wayward first mate has come home?" She chuckled, crossing one long leg over the other with deliberate grace that had everything to do with still being just as spry and flexible as always and nothing to do with getting on in years, thank you very much! "Jinbei too. After all he went to a lot of trouble to plant the directions for him."

"Mmm. I suppose we should...tomorrow maybe. Or the day after. Considering how long it's been, I'm sure the boys could use a few days to themselves," he chuckled in return, drumming his fingers on the bartop. "And a few days to let the green-haired one seriously think about putting down roots before we show him the dojo where Jinbei teaches. I have a feeling the lost brat is going to really like it."

"You are a dirty minded old man, Rayleigh." Shakki gestured her cigarette at him fondly.

"Considering the racket we heard upstairs, Shakki my dear, can you really blame me?" He blew a smoke heart at her and winked, teeth clicking on the pipe stem.

She turned away to begin setting up for the early crowd, her smoke finished, "It was your idea to check on them when Ben stopped by last night."

"I didn't expect Sanji to have fallen into bed with his old flame so fast," he protested, grumbling into his pipe as he rose to help her.

"What did you expect then? To find your second favorite place to get drunk burned to the ground? Sanji-san would never have let it come to that, and you know how much he was hurting. That was the whole reason _you_," she jabbed a finger at him, "came up with the idea to bring Zoro-san here."

He raised his hands defensively around a grin. "Oiii, oi, I saw how much both of them were hurting, not just Sanji. They were both being stubborn, hardheaded mules, that's all. I was rather expecting to find them bleeding out in a field somewhere first. Finish butting heads before they got around to reconnecting."

"Hmph, shows what you know of love, Dark King." Shakki teased, walking around the bar to open the door.

"I never said I knew anything about it," he called after her, before settling at the corner of the bar to serve as the bouncer. Not many would think an old guy was the bouncer- not until he was hefting them by the throat in one hand and tossing them out on their ass with the other. It was an enjoyable life.


End file.
